Dream Days at the Hotel Fandom
by RexDragosaurus
Summary: An unusual case takes Sherlock to an unusual hotel, where he encounters a horde of fandom characters who make the case and the hotel look mind-numbingly boring. When Sherlock decides to stay for a while, shenanigans ensue. Co-written with Sergeant Turtle. Multi-fandom crossover, but with Sherlock as the main character. Updates once-monthly. Lots of fun inside, promise!
1. Ep 1: The Mynde Palace

**A/N: **

**Hey everybody!**

**So, for those of you who know me, it should be no surprise that I would attempt a comedic multi-fandom (though Sherlock-focused) serial like this. The same can probably not be said for my good friend Sergeant Turtle, who writes some marvellous angst fics, most of them for the Ninja Turtles. But actually, we're very much alike, and so when we came up with this story, we were both very excited to begin writing it and then to begin sharing it with all of you. We hope you'll enjoy reading it as much as we did (and still do) writing it.**

**However, four points before you begin: **

**Basically, we take turns writing the "episodes". This one, the monstrous pilot (about twice as long as our average episode), is mine, and then the next will be Sarge's, and so on. ALL episodes will be uploaded to this fic.**

**Updates will be once-monthly. You might want to hit 'follow' so you don't miss any.**

**Because there are two of us, we thought it would be fun to each write an author's note for the episodes as they come out. Whoever wrote the episode (in this case me) will write the introductory note at the top, and the other will leave a comment at the bottom.**

**And finally—most importantly—do not feel as though you have to be familiar with all the fandoms to enjoy this fic. You will be seeing most things through Sherlock's eyes, and he should do a decent job of introducing you to everyone. (For those who know TMNT, though, we're using a couple of Sarge's headcanons from her Meridian fics.)**

**Okay, well that's it. Have fun reading! **

**– ****Rex**

* * *

**Dream Days at the Hotel Fandom**

_By Sergeant Turtle and RexDragosaurus_

_**Dramatis Personae:**_

_SHERLOCK HOLMES, a consulting detective_

_SKULDUGGERY PLEASANT, a skeletal detective and sorcerer_

_LEONARDO HAMATO, a teenage mutant ninja turtle_

_DONATELLO HAMATO, Leonardo's twin brother_

_IRON MAN, a superhero (also known as TONY STARK, genius, philanthropist, billionaire, playboy) _

_BATMAN, another superhero (also known as BRUCE WAYNE, another genius, philanthropist, billionaire and playboy)_

_RIVER TAM, crew-member of _Serenity

_FOX MULDER, an FBI agent_

_RORSCHACH, a masked vigilante (also known as WALTER KOVACS, occupation unknown)_

_SLENDY, the Slender Man, hotel manager_

_Other residents and guest stars_

_Various fangirls_

* * *

**Episode One: The Mynde Palace**

Thunder crashed overhead, and rain bucketed down upon the city. It seemed to the residents of the Mynde Palace Hotel that the storm was directing the larger portion of its wrath at them and their building in particular. This was less to do with the storm itself and more to do with the fact that most of the hotel's residents were, in fact, completely off their rockers.

Sherlock Holmes, of course, couldn't have been expected to know this before he arrived, damp and somewhat irritable, on the hotel's doorstep. But he very soon found out (being who he was, he deduced it less than five minutes after entering the lobby), and this is the story of what happened next.

* * *

'So, you are a "consulting detective", are you?' said Slendy, looking Sherlock up and down with an expression of mild distaste – despite the fact that his face had no eyes or features at all upon its eerie white surface.

'Yes, the only one in the world. Did you not hear me the first time?' Sherlock asked curtly, thrusting his hands into his sodden pockets.

'Indeed, indeed I did, I suppose.' said Slendy, unruffled by the brusque reply. He offered Sherlock's business card back, but Sherlock made no move to take it. 'So,' Slendy went on after a moment, depositing the card on the front desk, 'why, if I may ask, are you here? Do you wish to rent a room? Because if you do, you are required to agree to the terms and conditions before signing—'

'I don't need a room.' Sherlock interrupted him. 'I just want to have a look around.'

'A look...around?' Slendy echoed.

'And I'd like to ask your chef if he can lend me some lemons.' Sherlock added as an afterthought.

'Lemons?'

'Well, I say "lend"...' muttered Sherlock, not paying Slendy any attention as he brought out his phone and began playing Angry Birds on it. 'He won't be getting them back any time soon.'

'Oh.' said Slendy. 'Well, er...'

'Thank you,' said Sherlock, and with that, he headed off toward the lift.

Slendy watched him go, a blank look on his face. But then again, his face generally _did _look blank. 'There's a strange fellow.' he said to himself, then started as another man approached him, holding a half-eaten banana.

'Hi,' said the man, "my name's Jim-Bob Buggery. I believe I made a res—'

'GO AWAY, YOU FREAK!' screamed Slendy, diving behind the front desk.

Jim-Bob stared for a moment, then walked slowly away. 'Every time...' he said sadly.

* * *

As he stepped inside the lift, Sherlock immediately noticed one other man inside it. "Man", of course, is a rather loose description since this man appeared to be little more than a skeleton wearing a well-tailored suit and a hat. In the first split second, Sherlock was inclined to think that the skeleton was inanimate; but then it stood aside to let him in, proving without a doubt that it was, for want of a better word, alive.

Sherlock waited to see if the skeleton would get out, but it remained standing beside him, so he pushed the button that would take him to the top floor and turned to face the doors as they began to close. Pop music began to play inside the lift, and Sherlock rolled his eyes. The skeleton, noticing this, asked in a velvety-smooth voice not unlike Sherlock's own, 'Not a fan?'

Sherlock shot the skeleton a sideways glance. So it _was_ a male, then. 'No.' he replied presently.

'Fair enough.' said the skeleton. He paused. 'I don't believe I've seen you around here before.'

Probably a long-term lodger, Sherlock noted. 'I'm just visiting.'

'I see.' said the skeleton. 'Do you have friends staying here?'

Was he just a curious sort, Sherlock wondered, or was he fishing purposefully for information? 'No, it's... It's for work.'

'Really?' said the skeleton. 'What do you do for a living, then?'

Sherlock considered lying, then decided it couldn't hurt to tell. 'I'm a consulting detective.'

The skeleton paused again. 'That's a funny coincidence.'

'Coincidence?' Sherlock said sharply. 'So—' He broke off a moment and gave the skeleton a proper once-over. 'Ah. You're a detective as well.'

If the skeleton could have grinned, Sherlock judged from his tone, he would have done so as he said, 'Indeed.' And then he held out a long, thin, gloved hand. 'Skulduggery Pleasant, at your service.'

_I don't need your service,_ Sherlock nearly said, taking Skulduggery's hand and shaking it. The skeleton seemed quite the gentleman for all his questions, although there was something else about him that – though he hated to admit it even to himself – Sherlock couldn't yet place. 'Sherlock Holmes.'

'Well then, Mr Holmes,' Skulduggery said brightly, 'are you on a case?'

'I am.' Sherlock answered, still on his guard. After all, one couldn't always trust friendly appearances.

The lift shuddered to a stop on the third floor. Not the one Sherlock wanted, so he stayed where he was as the doors opened and two large, masked, humanoid turtles came in. 'Hi, Skulduggery,' said the first, who was wearing a blue mask. 'Whatcha up to?'

'I'm talking to this fellow,' said Skulduggery, motioning to Sherlock. 'He's a detective as well.'

'Wow,' said the second, purple-masked turtle. 'Fancy having that many detectives in one hotel!'

'There's Rorschach too.' added the first.

'Rorschach doesn't count,' the second objected. 'He _fights _crime, but he doesn't solve it, so to speak.'

'And plus he's a bit, well, odd.' Skulduggery put in, still with the grinning voice. He turned to Sherlock. 'Sherlock, allow me to introduce you to Leonardo and Donatello Hamato. Leo, Don, this is Sherlock Holmes.'

'Nice to meet you,' said the first turtle – whom Sherlock took to be Leonardo since he had smiled when Skulduggery said his name. 'So, how come you're here?'

'I'm looking for someone.' Sherlock said shortly.

'Well,' Donatello said with a wink, 'you're bound to find someone in a place like this. Just make sure it's the _right_ someone, huh?' He looked at Skulduggery. 'Speaking of looking for people, do you know where Fox is at?'

'No,' Skulduggery answered. 'Why?'

'We're pretty sure he's stalking us,' Leonardo complained. 'He thinks we're aliens.'

'Yeah,' said Donatello. 'And normally that wouldn't be such a problem, but we're trying to organise Bats a surprise birthday party and Fox keeps getting in the way.'

Skulduggery chuckled. 'I don't know why he wastes his time with those things any more. This building is filled with all sorts of peculiars.'

Sherlock, listening to this conversation, thought that last was a bit rich coming from a talking skeleton. But he didn't say as much – and in fact remained silent for some time. The two turtles got out of the lift on the seventh floor, and Skulduggery on the twentieth. Before he left he said to Sherlock, 'By the way, if you need a hand with your case at any point, Mr Holmes, don't hesitate to ask me. I've lived here for years, and I know this place – and the people in it – like the back of my hand. I'm in room 2007.'

Sherlock didn't respond as Skulduggery left, but – even though he was dubious as to whether or not he'd trust Skulduggery to help him in the unlikely event that he would require it – he filed this information away inside his head and proceeded on up to the twenty-fifth floor.

* * *

In another part of the hotel, a certain two geniuses were having one hell of a barney. To an observer, the source of this argument would not have been immediately obvious, but that really doesn't matter, as there weren't any observers.

'I tell you, you've got to stop this madness, Stark!' shouted Batman, shaking his fist at Iron Man.

'Yeah, like that's gonna happen.' Iron Man said sarcastically. 'We all know who the winner of this argument is, Bats, and it sure as hell isn't you.'

'You're an idiot!' Batman accused.

'You're a thief!' Iron Man rejoined.

'_I _invented the goddamn Rubik's dodecahedron!'

'No, _I _did!'

'You can't do this to me on my birthday!'

'It's not your fricken' birthday!'

'It's _going _to be!'

'That's not the same thing!'

'Asshole!'

'Back at ya!'

At this point, the two squabbling superheroes were interrupted by a storm of fangirls, who broke through the door with crowbars and swarmed in like rats – only squeaking rather more loudly.

'Ah,' said Iron Man, after a moment of standing around like stunned mullets. 'Here come my fangirls.'

'You mean _my _fangirls.' Batman said vehemently.

Iron Man started to reply, but by this time the fangirls had reached them and were drowning them in a sea of love.

* * *

It had all begun on a Saturday afternoon when Sherlock had got a call from the local coppers asking for his help. He'd been in the middle of listening to a potential client's story at that point, but had in the end decided to favour the police's case as being the more interesting of the two. The potential client, a woman in perhaps her late thirties, had been mumbling something about a corrupted dairy company, but the coppers informed him that three people – a young man included – had dropped dead at a bus stop, all at the same time.

The post-mortems indicated heart failure, but it rather looked like there was more to the story – and if there was, then Sherlock was going to find out what. He'd asked around and gathered that a man had been seen loitering near the bus stop right before the victims had snuffed it. The man had been tallish, dressed in a Mynde Palace Hotel uniform and carrying a sack of lemons. This was largely the reason for Sherlock's being here in the hotel now, but there was one other thing: shortly before arrival, he'd been phoned by one of the hotel's guests, who reckoned she knew something about the case and was willing to tell him.

So now, accordingly, Sherlock walked down the hall from the lift and presently found himself at room 2517. He knocked on the door and it was answered by a young woman in a blue dress. She had tangled brown hair and bare feet, and fixed Sherlock with a solemn expression. Sherlock took one good look at her and diagnosed her as schizophrenic.

Then, abruptly, she said, 'I can feel you reading me.'

Sherlock was taken-aback, but didn't admit as much. 'I believe you have something to tell me.' She arched an eyebrow at him, and he added, 'Sherlock Holmes. And you are?'

'River,' she said, continuing to eye him in a manner he wasn't certain he liked very much. 'Come in for a moment.'

He stepped across the threshold and found himself in what might once have been a regular hotel room but was now dark and eerie, and full of glowing, beeping lava lamps. 'Nice place you've got.' he said drily.

'It does what it needs to,' said River, sitting down on the couch and bringing her legs up underneath her. She stopped for a moment, then said, 'You're about to ask questions, so I'll answer them now. I found you through your website. I know what you want because I can sense it. I know about the case because I just know things. Also—' One corner of her mouth quirked up suddenly. '—I can kill you with my brain.'

Sherlock, after listening to this, was surprised to find himself grinning broadly. This girl was strange even compared to him, and probably knew as much about him as he did about her – _gifted intellectually, experimented on, damaged amygdala – _by this point. Uncomfortable a situation as this was, he decided he didn't altogether dislike her – or at any rate he didn't consider her an idiot. 'I see.' he said at last, still grinning. 'And what is it you'd like to tell me?'

River leaned forward in her seat and stared more intensely at him than ever. 'It wasn't heart failure, Mr Holmes. Those people were murdered. With lemons.'

Sherlock felt his smile slipping. 'With—'

_'Lemons.' _River said, in spades. 'I can't tell you who did it, though. It's your job to figure that out.' She rose. 'Good luck, Mr Holmes, and stay shiny.'

Sherlock, feeling considerably more fuddled than he had before she'd "helped" him, turned back towards the door. 'Thank you for—'

'Aahh, don't thank me!' River yelled suddenly. 'Just get out of my room!'

She was crazy, Sherlock thought as he closed the door behind him. Crazy and weird and psychic and all sorts of buggered up in the head.

He still didn't think she was an idiot, though.

* * *

'So, Donnie,' Leo was saying to Don, 'I was thinking, we could get Batsy a massive cake and decorate it to look like his emblem!'

'Or his face.' Don said helpfully.

'You kidding?' Leo laughed. 'I like Bats and all, but you think I wanna eat a piece of his face?'

Don giggled. 'Hey, maybe we should—'

'Just a moment there,' a voice rang out behind them, 'if you please.'

'Does anybody actually say that any more?' Leo asked Don, not bothering to turn around.

Don just shrugged. 'Apparently.'

'Don't move another inch, or I'll fire.' the voice went on.

Leo and Don rolled their eyes.

'Okay, Fox, you got us.' Don said wearily. 'What now?'

'Turn around slowly and put your hands up.' Fox said in a low, steady voice, still from behind them.

Leo and Don rolled their eyes a second time, then swivelled around to see – Fox Mulder, pointing a banana at them!

'April fools.' said Fox. He threw the banana in their direction, but it fell wide and hit Slendy (who had been prowling around nearby and rushed over to see what the noise was about) in the eye. Or it would have if he'd had eyes.

'AAARRRGH!' screamed Slendy. 'GO AWAY, YOU FREAK!'

Fox threw up his hands. 'Look, I—'

'NOOOOWW!' Slendy howled, pointing viciously with the tips of his tentacles. 'OR I SHALL HAVE TO EVICT YOU!' Fox gave him a contemptuous glance and then swept away, leaving the two turtles staring at Slendy.

'Dude,' said Leo at length, 'you got a problem with bananas?'

'My problems with bananas are none of your concern, young man!' screamed Slendy. 'Now bugger off before I decide to evict _you _as well!' He took a long, deep breath, and seemed then to recover himself. 'I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me.'

'It was probably the bana—' Don began, but Slendy cut him off.

'Please.' Slendy said tersely. 'Don't talk about it.' He took another deep breath. 'And now, gentlemen, I'd like you to come with me. There are one or two outstanding discrepancies lurking within your rental records that I wish to discuss with you...'

Donnie and Leo, having no way to get out of this predicament, sighed and followed Slendy down the hall. As they went, Don whispered, 'I still think we should make a cake of Batsy's face.'

'No.' Leo whispered back.

* * *

As Sherlock was heading back to the lift, he bumped into a – someone. This someone was wearing a brown hat and trench coat over a purple suit, and a white mask with a perpetually shifting black pattern on it. 'Looking for something?' the someone – man – asked in a peculiar, hoarse sort of monotone.

Sherlock flicked his blue-green eyes over the man and decided that he must be the "Rorschach" person Skulduggery and the turtles had spoken about. 'Just the kitchen.' he said presently.

'Down on ground floor.' said Rorschach. 'Out of bounds to all but staff.'

'And me.' said Sherlock. 'I'm investigating a possible crime.'

'Am doing so also.' Rorschach told him. 'Could be the same.'

Sherlock remembered what Skulduggery had said about Rorschach being a bit odd, then decided that this did not matter, as oddness was undoubtedly the norm for this hotel. All the same, he wasn't sure how he felt at hearing Rorschach's supposition. 'Could be.' he said, and then walked off, leaving Rorschach staring after him behind that unsettling mask of his, motionless as a spider about to strike.

* * *

'And then,' Fox said seriously, 'I told them April fools and threw it at them.'

'You're strange, Fox.' Skulduggery informed the man. But he was chuckling as he said it.

'I have a strange _life_, Skulduggery.' Fox retorted. 'Tracking down aliens all the time and so on. Is it any wonder?'

'I suppose not.' said Skulduggery. He motioned towards a teapot which was sitting on the little table between them. 'More tea?'

'No thanks,' said Fox, 'I've got to go back to shadowing those turtles in a moment.'

'I thought you said that was just a joke.' Skulduggery said, puzzled.

'Well, actually,' Fox admitted, 'I'm doing a favour for Bats. He wants me to find out what the twins are planning him for his birthday.' He gave a slow smile. 'He says if I do, he'll let me be the first person to use his Rubik's dodecahedron.'

'Good lord,' Skulduggery ejaculated. 'You don't mean to say he's actually finished it?'

Fox shrugged. 'That's what I gathered from our last conversation.'

'Interesting.' said Skulduggery. He then got to his feet. 'Well, if you're heading off, Fox, I won't ask you to have a biscuit.' He reached over towards one of his cupboards and pulled out a biscuit tin, rattling it invitingly.

'Uh,' Fox hesitated. 'Alright, maybe just one, then.' He chose a pink-iced duck-shaped biscuit and then let himself out.

Skulduggery waited until he was sure the FBI agent had probably turned the corner at the end of the corridor, then went out himself. He'd received a text from Don a short while before, explaining that the twins were wrapped up in legal shenanigans with Slendy, and were wondering if he, Skulduggery, could go down to the kitchen and ask the head chef about baking Bats a birthday cake.

'And,' Don's text had added, 'be sure and have it decorated to look like Bats's face.'

So off Skulduggery went, taking the lift down to the ground floor and entering the hotel kitchen – where he found Sherlock in the middle of interrogating Derek, the head chef, about lemons.

'I'm tellin' you, mate, I dunno nuffin' about no lemons!' Derek protested violently.

'Are you quite sure about that?' Sherlock pressed. 'Because if you were to give me just two minutes, I could give you a list of all the lemons you've ever come into contact with in your life.'

Derek, trembling, seemed about to say something when Skulduggery interrupted. 'What on earth is going on, Mr Holmes?' he asked politely.

'Three people were murdered with lemons at a bus stop on Saturday,' Sherlock said darkly, turning to face Skulduggery. 'And a man answering to Derek's description was seen by several witnesses in the vicinity of the bus stop with a sack of lemons.'

'Hmm.' said Skulduggery. 'Well, it can't have been Derek.'

Sherlock suddenly looked very intently at him, and Skulduggery felt an unpleasant sensation sweep over his bones, like he was being X-rayed. 'And why can't it have?' Sherlock asked at last.

'Because,' said Skulduggery, 'Derek was talking with me and Leo at the time of the murders, about catering for Batman's birthday party. Oh, Derek,' he added, 'Don was wondering if you could bake a cake shaped like Batsy's face.'

'Orlright, will do.' said Derek, now grinning happily.

'But – hang on,' said Sherlock, 'if it wasn't Derek who was out there with that sack of lemons, then – who _was _it?'

Skulduggery shrugged. 'I'm afraid I can't help you there, although I very much would like to.'

Sherlock refused to be defeated. 'Okay. Fine – Derek, show me where the lemons are kept.' He turned to Skulduggery. 'Perhaps they'll lead us to the killer.'

Skulduggery nodded and followed Sherlock and Derek into an incredibly large pantry, inside which was found, among other things, a big wooden crate full of lemons. 'What I don't understand,' Skulduggery said at length, 'is how you can actually kill a person with lemons. I mean, _I_ could probably find a way to get someone to eat a lemon and then make it explode inside them or something, but not everybody has my wizardly prowess. And besides, the deaths looked like heart attacks, not stomach explosions.'

Sherlock, who was examining the crate of lemons, now looked up. 'You seem to know a lot about my case,' he said warily, while beside him Derek muttered something about going to get started on the cake.

'Like I said,' Skulduggery reminded Sherlock, 'I'm a detective too. I make it my business to know about these sorts of things.'

Sherlock straightened up, looking back at the lemons. 'You do have a point. How _does _one use lemons to bring about a heart attack?' He paused. 'But that's it...'

'What's wrong, Mr Holmes?' asked Skulduggery.

'It wasn't the lemons.' Sherlock muttered, more to himself than anyone else. 'It was never the lemons. She just said that to put me on the wrong track.'

'She?' said Skulduggery.

'River.' said Sherlock.

'Oh,' The skeleton's tone told Sherlock that he completely understood. 'River Tam. She's...batty.'

'Yes, but powerful in spite of it.' Sherlock went on, gaining speed as he spoke. 'She told me herself she could kill people with her brain. She was practically admitting it!'

'You mean you think _River _killed those people?' said Skulduggery.

'Well, it makes sense, doesn't it?' said Sherlock. 'It explains that the deaths, while unnatural in terms of the victims, didn't _look _like murder. It explains how she knew about them – and the reason she told me about the lemons. She was just trying to frame the man with the sack.'

'But why would she draw attention to the fact that it was murder if there was a fair chance she'd get away with it?' Skulduggery pointed out.

'That's the frailty of genius, Mr Pleasant.' Sherlock said with satisfaction. 'It needs an audience.'

They strode out of the pantry, out of the kitchen and into the lobby, where they found Slendy back at the desk, seeming very, very displeased. The source of this displeasure was made obvious to the two sleuths when they saw all the fangirls. The fangirls, of course, were continuing to swarm around Iron Man and Batman. Leo and Don were looking on in amusement.

After a minute of observation, Sherlock gathered that Fox had found out from the twins, upon their leaving their meeting with Slendy, about the cake, and had told Batman, who was now on his way to the kitchen to ask Derek if the rumours were true. Batman had then been followed by Iron Man, who was still arguing with him, and the fangirls had refused to be left behind. It was all very confused, but Sherlock didn't care about any of it right now. He went to the lift, accompanied by Skulduggery, and the two of them hastily made their way to River's room.

When they arrived, however, they found that someone had already beaten them to the finish. And that someone was Rorschach.

'Rorschach!' Skulduggery burst out. 'What are you doing?'

'Here to confront Miss Tam about murders of Destitute O'Stones, Mank Sanders and Bertie Bangleton.' Rorschach informed him without emotion.

'But that's what _we're _here for.' said Skulduggery.

'Should have been quicker,' Rorschach shrugged. 'Might have been saved this embarrassment.'

'Um, not really,' River put in, speaking for the first time since the detectives' appearance. 'I know why you all think I did it, but I didn't.'

'So who did, then?' Sherlock demanded.

'I told you already, I can't—'

'I don't buy that.' said Sherlock, looking more intensely at her than ever. 'I know you know all sorts of things about me, but I also know a great deal about _you_, Miss Tam, and one thing I know is that you know who the murderer was.'

There was a long pause following this declaration. Then Skulduggery said, 'I can't believe you just used the word "know" five times in one sentence.'

'And I can't believe _you _were counting.' Sherlock replied scathingly. He turned back to River. 'Well? Am I right? I am, aren't I? You know who murdered those three people, don't you? So why aren't you telling us?'

River was silent a moment, then she heaved a sigh. 'Alright,' she said, 'fine. It was Tabitha.'

'Tabitha who?' Sherlock said impatiently.

'Tabitha the orang-outang.' River snapped. 'My pet.' She gestured to one of the lava lamps, and from behind it crawled a tiny silver orang-outang. It looked at them all, then gave vent to something that sounded rather like a French horn screaming. 'The thing about Tabitha,' River explained, sensing everyone's confusion, 'is that _she _can kill things with her brain too. And, well, she sort of _did_. But I didn't want anyone to find out, so...I told you that story about the lemons, Mr Holmes.'

Sherlock, fighting an urge to gape in astonishment, gave her a look and somehow knew that this was the truth. 'Right, er, well.' he said at last. 'That leaves us in a pretty awkward position.'

'Can you arrest orang-outangs for murder around here?' Skulduggery asked doubtfully.

'No.' said Rorschach.

'Oh, that's shiny.' said River, picking Tabitha up and giving her a hug. 'I was pretty worried there for a while.'

'Yeah, well...' said Sherlock. 'You're responsible for her actions, you know, so I expect you'll be hearing from the police in a day or two.' He turned to leave, and was presently followed out by Skulduggery and Rorschach. Rorschach stalked off at once, but Skulduggery remained with Sherlock until they came back to the lobby, where everyone else had more or less dispersed.

'Well, Mr Holmes,' said Skulduggery, 'while that was all a bit pointless in the end, I have to say, it was truly a pleasure to meet you.' He offered Sherlock his hand again, and Sherlock, deep in thought, took it absently.

'Thank you,' he said.

There was another pause.

'I don't suppose...' said Skulduggery, 'you'd care to come to Batman's birthday party?'

Sherlock shrugged. 'Parties aren't really my area.'

'Fair enough.' said Skulduggery. 'Goodbye, then.' And with that, he walked away, leaving Sherlock standing in the middle of the lobby.

Sherlock, for his part, had already forgotten about the case, and how he was going to have to explain some very bizarre things to the police. Instead he was thinking about how dingy and depressing his current residence was, how interesting his time at the Mynde Palace had been, and how – for some absurd reason – he seemed to be encountering so many people who were, like him, _more _than the average individual. It was like he'd found his people. Even as egocentric as he was, he didn't find himself in the position of loathing the idea of _belonging_.

Sherlock nearly smiled to himself on reaching this conclusion, but instead he turned and made a beeline for Slendy's desk. Slendy looked up as he approached and said hysterically, 'If you're carrying bananas, then shove off!'

Sherlock gave Slendy a strange look, then said, 'I'm not.'

'Oh,' said Slendy, relieved, 'fine. In that case, what can I do for you?'

'Well,' said Sherlock, 'it's just... You know that room you offered me?'

'Indeed I do.' said Slendy.

'Well,' Sherlock said again, 'I've been thinking, and—' Now he smiled. 'I'd like to take you up on that offer after all.'

* * *

**A/N: This is our "pilot" episode, of a sort, the really long one at the beginning. All the characters have been set up brilliantly, and Rex has wormed some fantastic jokes into here. Next up is my first chapter, where Sherlock – horror of horrors – is required to have a one-on-one chat about origami and emotions (shudder)... **

**– ****Sergeant Turtle**


	2. Ep 2: A Short Conversation Over Paper

**A/N:**

**Hi all! **

**After the long, hilarious, mysterious jaunt we went on last time with Rex's terrific pilot episode, here's a bit of a short one, but I hope you like it. If you're confused about what the deal is with the twins (Leo and Don), hop over to my page when you get the time and read the Meridian series, which should make everything clear (sort of). **

**– ****Sergeant Turtle**

* * *

**Episode Two: A Short Conversation Over Paper**

Sherlock closed the door to his room (number 1895) and wandered down the hallway to the lift. He'd had an untroubled sleep last night – unusual – and was now wondering what to do for the rest of the morning, if not the whole day. He entered the lift and surveyed the row of buttons. After some debate he simply closed his eyes and pressed one at random. The doors closed, and muzak played as the lift rose.

He had awakened very early – the sun was just beginning to show above the horizon – so most of the tenants were still asleep. Except, he discovered as the doors opened and revealed the recreation room, for Leonardo. The blue-masked turtle was sitting on a beanbag in the far corner with a slightly dismal expression. Sherlock's brain went instantly into deduction mode.

_Haggard expression – clearly hasn't slept a wink. Untidy hair – distraught, he keeps fiddling with it. Childlike manner of sitting with knees pulled up to the chest indicates that he could do with some comfort but clearly hasn't received any. Why is he upset? He's clearly a warrior, a fighter – the scars on his arm and the one on the side of his neck are testament to that – so not a lot should faze him. _But, _he's clearly still young, no more than twenty at the most, and that haunted look in his eyes… he's obviously been through a lot. Maybe post traumatic stress. _

_But when I met him yesterday he was perfectly fine. Something else. A recurring illness, perhaps? He's trembling a little so maybe_—

'You going to stand in the lift all morning or are you actually going to come in?'

Sherlock blinked and realised that he'd zoned out while trying to untangle the threads of the puzzling being – who hadn't even looked up yet. _How did he know I was here?_

'Sorry. I was just trying to figure out if you wanted to be alone.'

'And?'

'I have to confess you're a bit of a mystery.'

'I'm good at hiding how I'm feeling. It's kind of necessary in my line of life,' said Leo, his expression darkening a little.

'Which is?' asked the detective, sitting on a nearby chair.

'You're the super sleuth,' replied Leo. 'See if you can figure it out.'

A pause. Then – 'I do believe you are a ninja, although for some reason I can hardly guess as to why.'

Leo gave a slight smile. _There's a story behind that smile_, thought Sherlock. 'Well, I'll tell you why if you tell me something.'

'Fair enough. What?'

'How you worked it out,' Leo said, tilting his head up to reveal silvery eyes that didn't seem quite natural coupled with his midnight-black scruff of hair.

Then again, he was also a giant walking talking turtle. Natural was _hardly_ a common word in this hotel.

'Well,' said Sherlock after a moment, 'it was apparent to me from my observations in the lift yesterday that you were some form of fighter – there are very clear scars on your arm in particular. But your build is more lithe than the usual cannon fodder, and you have a tendency to carry yourself with an air of confidence. Therefore, an elite of a special cadre of warriors who are required to be fast and agile. You primarily dress in dark, muted clothing, suggesting a need for stealth and invisibility. And, to finish, you have some rather fine specimens of Japanese origami at your feet along with an almost-finished _haiku_ poem written in near-perfect calligraphy, suggesting that you have been extensively educated in the ancient culture of that East Asian chain of islands. A Japanese elite warrior trained for agility, speed and stealth – a ninja.'

Leo looked slightly awestruck, then picked up the half-finished poem and smiled again. 'But that's not how you really _proved_ it, is it?'

Sherlock's eyebrows shot up. Leonardo was more perceptive than he'd originally thought. 'No. I admit I was still unsure—'

'Until you took a closer look at my _haiku_.'

'Well – yes.'

'I suppose the interesting thing is that the poem, on its own, doesn't prove anything without all the other information. And vice versa. Don would find our conversation very fascinating, I think,' then he chuckled and added, 'if he wasn't asleep right now.'

And then there it was – the flicker in his expression, the droop of the head. Something was bothering him. Something to do with his brother. 'Are you two close?'

Leo looked slightly startled at the sudden question, but nodded.

'That seems to bother you.'

A blink of the silver eyes, then a soft sigh. 'I feel like I'm a burden to him sometimes.'

_Huh._ Sherlock thought for a moment. _Emotional problems are not the sort I'm good at solving. What to do?_

'Why, what happened to you?'

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realised he'd sounded harsh, and mentally slapped himself. Twice. He was really going to have to work on this at some point. Since his friendship with John Watson, he'd found that no matter how sociopathic he acted, sometimes he couldn't help but feel a little… empathy… towards the occasional person. It seemed that Leonardo was one of these occasional people. Turtles. Something. He'd yet to work out the underlying equation.

The ninja didn't seem to notice Sherlock's inner berating, instead silently picking up a purple square of paper and folding it quickly and surely into a turtle. He studied it for several seconds, adjusting a few corners here and there, then placed it on the floor beside a red turtle, an orange turtle, and what looked like a mouse – or perhaps a rat. After staring at the group of figures, he selected a blue paper square and began to fold again. 'Did you know that someone's artistic ventures, be they writing, drawing or craft, often reflect the way they're feeling?' questioned Sherlock.

There was a pause in the folding, then, 'That was a bit of a non- sequitur,' replied Leo, returning to the paper and producing a blue turtle, which he scowled at before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it over his shoulder.

'What was wrong with it?' asked Sherlock, bemused. Leo seemed to be an unstable being.

'It wasn't right in the head – I mean, its head wasn't right… never mind…'

The detective wisely said nothing at this, but retrieved another blue square and painstakingly began to copy the sequence of moves he'd seen. For a while there was only the sound of rustling paper, then Sherlock paused, contemplating the figure he had made. The little paper reptile's head wasn't perfect, true, but there was something about the tilt of the head and the slight bend of the neck – it almost seemed to be alive. It had a certain… personality, Sherlock decided. 'I don't see anything wrong with it, Leonardo,' he said firmly, placing the folded turtle with the group, which had gained a white rabbit, an alligator, and three human figures, one male and two female.

Another, a translucent male figure, joined them a second later, watching over the group as it was placed next to the rat, which was made of the same ghostly paper. Sherlock frowned. 'Do these represent people?'

Leo's smile returned. 'Yes.'

'I see. So the blue turtle is you and the purple one is your brother – who are the others?'

'The other turtles are our younger brothers, Raph and Mikey, and the rat is our father and teacher, who died some time ago.' He looked at the rat figure, then took a deep breath and ploughed resolutely on. 'The rabbit is my samurai friend Usagi, the alligator is our friend Leatherhead, and the three living humans are our friends and secret-keepers Casey, April and Angel. And this one,' – he indicated the ghost man – 'is Master Yoshi. He was our father's owner, back when he was a normal rat.'

The detective cocked his head. 'Are these all the people – beings – you know?'

'No. There are plenty more of _those_. _These_ are my clan. They're my family, my closest friends – the ones I'd trust with my life.'

'Eight living souls.'

'Not much, I know.'

'I have two.'

'Oh…'

'Well, three, but I'd only trust two of them with my life. The other's a bit… forgetful.'

Leo chuckled, and the sleuth could see that the blue-masked turtle was feeling better already. _Nice work, Sherlock. Not bad for a sociopath._ 'Now, Leonardo, I believe you owe me a story…'

'Ah – of course.' Leo sat up a little straighter in the beanbag, toed off his shoes, and stared into the distance, wondering how to begin.

Well, the beginning was as good a place as any.

'This story begins over twenty years ago in rural Japan…'

* * *

**A/N: Of all the episodes we've written so far, this one is kind of the shy, quirky sibling that likes to hide in the corner so as not to be noticed. For that reason I really love it, because it stands out as being the only one (so far) to concentrate more on friendship-fluff and character development (with a little touch of classic ST angst) than comedy. It's short and sweet—as this author's note would be if I were good at brevity. **

**– Rex **


	3. Ep 3: Death, Deductions and Discord

**A/N: **

**Well, after the fluffy-feels of the last chapter, I thought I'd lighten the mood with some...well, you can read about it in the title. I wanted to explore the way Sherlock and Skulduggery's dynamic might develop, return to the theme of Batman's upcoming birthday, and some other stuff which will crop up in here, and I think I can say that I found some interesting ideas to write about. Happy reading!**

**– Rex**

* * *

**Episode Three: Death, Deductions and Discord**

The weather was exceptionally lovely the day Rorschach died. A great many of the other inmates – that is to say, residents – of the Mynde Palace remembered that day for a long time after it had passed. This was appropriate, because it was a day worth remembering.

The morning started off like any other: chaotically. There was a massive row in the breakfast room between Iron Man and Fox Mulder on the subject of Asgardians, and it only stopped when Slendy rushed into the room and threatened to evict all parties involved for disturbing the peace. To be fair to the verbal combatants, most of the onlookers were considerably more inclined to be amused than disturbed. The peace, on the other hand, felt very injured indeed, and knocked off work early, which is perhaps one reason why the events that followed were as helter-skelter as they were.

The next thing that happened was that several clients arrived for Skulduggery Pleasant. They made their way into the hotel via the back door (Slendy rarely tolerated non-guests taking up the space in his beloved lobby) and swarmed into the lift, heading for the twentieth floor as they had been instructed. It was as they were passing the eighteenth floor that Sherlock happened to hop in, and then the trouble started.

_Ugh_, thought Sherlock, as the doors opened and he saw that he would have to share with about seven other people. Sherlock detested lifts at the best of times, but they were absolute hell when they were crowded. Still, he wasn't about to take the stairs, so he stepped through the doors, swept a chilling gaze over the other people and spent a vaguely amusing thirty seconds unravelling their life stories. Then, as the doors closed and the lift continued up past floor nineteen, it hit him – and he was quite cross that it had taken so long – that there was one thing these people all had in common. They were clients.

A sliver of a smile was just about to make its way onto his face when he realised something else. The clients weren't here to see him. They wanted Skulduggery. _Skulduggery! _They wanted Skulduggery-bloody-Pleasant and not him! That was so ridiculous it made Sherlock want to stab things. Sherlock didn't like what he didn't understand, and he definitely didn't understand why anyone in their right mind would prefer that skeletal amateur to the world's only consulting detective. Unless...

The smile finally made its triumphant appearance. Of course. The only reason these people wanted Skulduggery was because they didn't yet realise they had a better option. That being the case, he needed to set them straight immediately. And there was only one way to do that.

Sherlock cast his eye over the crowd again, turned to the lady nearest him and said, 'How's your mother?'

The woman turned and gave him a strange look. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Your mother's in hospital. A stroke seems the likeliest possibility. Just been to see her, haven't you? How did she seem?' Sherlock saw that the woman was giving him that look – the terrified _Oh-God-how-does-this-creep-know-so-much-about-me _look. He had to reassure her now that he wasn't a stalker, or he'd lose her. So as the others in the lift stared at him and the woman, he pressed on.

'There's a slight red tinge to your eyes. You've been crying, and quite recently by the look of it. Traces of disinfectant on your hands and clothes indicate you've spent time in a sterile area – probably a hospital – and there's a blot of ink on your right forefinger which indicates you've been using a pen, no doubt to sign a get-well card. So you've been visiting someone in hospital. The fact that you're this upset suggests it's someone close and it's pretty serious. Can't be your child – no mother would dress in that short a skirt – and it can't be a significant other because you've just had a text from someone who wants to set you up on a date. That indicates you're single, so it's got to be a friend or parent.'

'How—' the woman started to say, but Sherlock cut her off.

'I wasn't finished,' he said, a trifle irritably. 'Now, your demeanour suggests you're in shock, so you've probably only just heard the news. If it's this serious, they'd only let family in to see the patient at this point, so that rules friends out of the equation. And it can't be your father because I saw him dropping you off outside the hotel from my window earlier. That means it must have been your mother – and a woman of that age going into hospital this rapidly for something serious suggests a stroke to me.' He took a deep breath. 'So, how was she?'

The woman's lip trembled slightly. 'I – she – not good...'

'Well,' Sherlock said, 'at least you have a mystery to distract you. Talking of which, you're here to see Mr. Pleasant, are you not? In fact, you all are. Am I right?' The other people nodded slowly. 'Well,' said Sherlock, 'I wouldn't recommend you bother with him. He couldn't tell you everything I just did. Wouldn't know where to start.' His smile broadened. 'My name is—'

'Oh, don't worry,' one man said brusquely, 'we _know _who you are, Mr. Holmes. Your reputation precedes you.' He gave a sympathetic look to the woman Sherlock had grilled. 'Anyway, I do believe this is our floor. Come on, everybody.' And as if on cue, the lift doors opened and everyone filed silently out, not sparing Sherlock a second glance.

Sherlock stared after them until the doors closed again. Now he was very confused indeed, and he hated it with every cell in his body. However, that would soon be remedied. All he needed to do was to have a word with Skulduggery himself and see what was going on. He decided to leave it until later, though, since he had no wish to interact with any of those ingrates again, and instead went off to find Leo Hamato and see if he wanted to play Cluedo.

* * *

Meanwhile, in room 0104, Don Hamato and River Tam were working on a little experiment together. And that experiment was Rorschach. Sort of.

'Cannot understand process involved here.' Rorschach muttered from where he sat, strapped to a large metal chair.

'I've explained it to you five times already, Rorschach,' sighed Don. 'All River and I intend to do is test our new memory embedder/extractor device on you; considering the variety and the power of the recollections floating about in your mind, you'd make an excellent guinea pig to work with – if you'll pardon the expression.'

'Did not think 'favour' requested would be this dangerous.' Rorschach said pessimistically.

'Nonsense.' said Don, placing what looked like a giant metal fez on Rorschach's head. 'This won't hurt a bit.'

'My brother used to say that all the time.' River commented. 'I could feel the lie choking the truth inside him.'

Don gave River a dour look. 'Thanks for backing me up.' River just smiled serenely at him. He then went over to a complicated-looking control board and began pressing buttons. 'Okay, Rorschach, you're all hooked up. Just give me a minute and I'll start probing.'

'Do not like choice of words.' Rorschach opined. 'Potential for innuendo.'

'Mmm,' said Don, concentrating intently on his green fingertips as they glided over the control board's surface, 'no offence, but you're quite the wowser, you know.'

Presently the metal fez began emitting a harsh beeping sound. Rorschach's toes started to twitch, and River became very still. 'There's cold inside him,' she said quietly.

'Cold?' said Don, now holding down about eighteen buttons at once. 'How do you mean?' Before River could reply, Rorschach started to scream, limbs contorting in agony. 'Shell,' Don cursed under his breath. 'There's a power build-up in the ion conversion chamber. It's giving off electronic pulses, which are messing with his brainwaves. He thinks he's in pain, but he's not.'

'Move over,' said River, approaching the control board.

'No, River, those instruments are very delicate—'

'Just need to reverse the polarity of the neutron flow...'

'What?!'

'AAARRRRGGGGGHHHHH!' howled Rorschach.

Several minutes and a heated argument later, the vigilante lay dead in his chair, still twitching feebly.

'We killed him.' Don said, aghast.

'Huh,' said River. 'I could've done that with my brain.'

* * *

Fox was sitting in the bar and having a nice quiet drink when Batman approached him with a hopeful smile on his face. 'Bats,' Fox greeted the black-clad hero, 'what's up?'

'Actually, the thing is,' said Batman, 'I was hoping to ask you a favour.'

'Another one?' Fox said warily. 'I think I've had enough of spying on the party organisers, you know.'

'No, it's nothing like that.' Batman reassured him. 'Actually, it's more like a job offer I want you to consider.'

Fox's eyebrows shot up at once. 'That sounds a little risqué given our whereabouts.'

Batman face-palmed. 'I'm looking for a sidekick, alright?'

'A sidekick?' Fox echoed.

'Yes, a sidekick.' Batman reiterated. 'Haven't had one since Robin, you see, and I thought it was about that time again.'

'Riiight,' said Fox. 'And you think I'd make a good sidekick, do you?'

Batman nodded. 'So what do you say?'

Fox paused for a long moment, then downed the last of his drink. 'Sorry, Bats,' he said, rising from his stool, 'but I just don't think it would work out. See you round.' He threw a couple of coins down onto the bar, turned and left.

Batman watched him go, crestfallen, then called out pathetically after him, 'It's my _birthday_ soon! You couldn't even do it for the birthday boy?'

But answer came there none.

* * *

'Sherlock, I think you're overreacting,' said Skulduggery, leaning back in his seat with an air of faint amusement that annoyed Sherlock more than ever.

'Overreacting?' echoed Sherlock. 'You're stealing my clients. Why shouldn't I be upset about that?'

'Because they're not _your _clients.'

'They should be.'

'Well, I'm frightfully sorry,' said Skulduggery, 'but it's hardly _my _fault they like me better than you.'

''Course it is.' said Sherlock.

'Oh, now you're just being silly.' Skulduggery was starting to become less amused. 'Maybe if you worked on your people skills a bit, you'd get a few more punters who want to hire you. Have you ever thought about that?'

But Sherlock just made a noise of impatience and stalked away, pausing only to turn back and say coldly, 'That man with the beard who reported the twin murders? He's got you going in completely the wrong direction. Have a good look at his shirt pocket, and when you've worked it out, _arrest _him.' Then he opened Skulduggery's door and vanished through it.

Skulduggery sighed and started to pull a mobile phone out of his pocket, but before he could do so, the door – which had not yet swung to – opened again with a bang as Rorschach burst through it, seeming greatly agitated.

'Liver.' he muttered, elbowing past Skulduggery and making his way to the fridge. 'Need liver. Got any in here?'

'Of course I haven't.' Skulduggery said bemusedly, staring at him. 'What do you need liver for?'

Rorschach whirled around to face him, having examined the fridge (which was empty) and slammed it closed again. 'To eat. What kind of question is that?' He tore out of the room again without so much as a by-your-leave.

Skulduggery didn't know what to think until River and Don popped in to ask him if he'd seen Rorschach anywhere. 'Yes,' said Skulduggery, 'he came in here about five minutes ago, ranting about liver. What's the matter with him?'

'It's a long story...' Don began, but River cut him off.

'We killed him,' she said, 'then we fixed him, but we couldn't put his mind back together properly.'

Skulduggery stared at Don, who gave a helpless shrug. 'That's about the size of it,' he said, then the twosome ran out again.

Skulduggery watched them go, then reached for his mobile phone again – but was interrupted once more, this time by Batman. 'Well, Batman, what can I do for you?' he asked, inviting the superhero in.

'Actually,' said Bats, 'I have an opening for the position of sidekick – my sidekick, that is – and I was wondering if you'd be at all interested...?'

Skulduggery took all of two seconds to think this over. 'You're very kind, Batman, but I'm afraid I must decline that offer.' he said. 'It doesn't really sound like my forte.'

'But—' Bats started to protest.

'Good day.'

And suddenly Bats was outside Skulduggery's door. He looked down at his feet for a moment, then screamed at the door, 'Not even as a favour for the birthday boy? Really?!'

Inside, Skulduggery pretended not to hear him as he slumped wearily into his armchair and heaved a sigh. 'What a day,' he murmured, and after contemplating his mobile for a minute, he tossed it onto the couch and fell asleep.

* * *

**A/N: Ah, Bats. Never any luck there. This chapter's sort of a domestic one, which is a nice counterpoint to the crazy ones coming up (though even domesticity is crazy in the Mynde Palace). I especially love the idea that Sherlock doesn't like Skulduggery "stealing" his cases. It's very in-character. – Sergeant Turtle**


	4. Ep 4: A Party Degrades Into Insanity

**Episode Four: A Party Degrades Into Insanity, Not That Anyone Minds or Anything**

* * *

**This one, of course, is the culmination of Bats' "birthday boy complex" from the last few chapters. I asked Rex if I would be able to do the party itself, and she had no problem with that, so I went ahead and did it! I also wanted a chance to confuse Sherlock, and thought that a bit of unexplained magic would do it. Sherlock, being the most logical being in the Palace, would find this extremely frustrating. **

**– ****Sergeant Turtle**

* * *

1:34.

'Leo.'

…

'Leeeeeeooooo.'

…

'_Leo_!'

'Hm?'

'Are you awake?'

'I am _now_.'

'I have an idea.'

'Donnie, you _always_ have an idea.'

'Well – yes, but I have an idea for tomorrow.'

'You mean today.'

'… What?'

'It's 1:37 am, Don.'

'Oh… hang on, we don't have any clocks in here, how do you know?'

'Secret. Not telling.'

'_Leo…_'

'Okay! You've woken me up at the exact same time every Wednesday morning for the last twelve years.'

'…Really?'

'Ever since you got your lab and started inventing things.'

'Oh… sorry.'

'I'm not angry, Donnie! It's good that you have something to get excited about.'

'When you _let_ me get excited about it.'

'Going off on a science rant in the middle of a stealth raid is kind of counterproductive, Donnie.'

'Heh. Good point.'

'So, what's the idea, then?'

…

'That is _hilarious!_ He'll never see it coming! And he's been annoying _several_ people during the past few days. Might be good to take him down a peg.'

'We'll have to wake up before he does.'

'Okay. See you at 4:30.'

'Okay. Good night.'

'_Morning_.'

'Grmph…'

* * *

9:00.

Batman woke up with a sense of anticipation. He also woke up with a sore nose as a result of forgetting to take his mask off before bed. But he didn't really care about that, because today was the best day of the year. It was all about him. He hummed as he dressed, whistled as he shaved, sang as he cleaned up his apartment, and danced to open the door at the sound of a knock.

'I wouldn't open it if I were you,' came the voice of Sherlock Holmes from outside the door. 'The twins have booby-trapped your doorknob.' There was a silence. 'Just thought I'd let you know.' Footsteps moved down the hall and the silence returned.

Huh. A booby-trapped _doorknob_? That was the best they could come up with? Pathetic. He disabled the small shocking device easily and traipsed towards the lift, giving a disgruntled Iron Man a cheery wave as the doors closed in his face. Getting out on the first floor, he sashayed into the busy dining room and ordered waffles for breakfast. As he looked around, he couldn't help noticing that the twins were looking oh-so-disappointed at him over their hot chocolate. _Ha. That's what you get for trying to prank the one and only Batman!_ His waffles seemed to carry the sweet taste of victory too, and as he acted very OOC and stuck his tongue out at the turtles as he passed – earning an annoyed 'Hmph!' from Don and an eye-roll from Leo – he knew today could be nothing but a good day.

So he went off to find Mulder and ask him for a game of snooker. He had that lucky feeling again…

Sherlock had also seen the twins' disappointed expressions, and was feeling rather pleased with himself. He hadn't been entirely sure it was them – instead making an educated guess. Of course, he had been right anyway, as usual.

He had uncovered another two of their pranks before breakfast, and felt decidedly deductive. A quick check of the party room was in order, he thought.

Just in case.

* * *

11:45.

'Black ball, corner pocket!' shouted Batman as he did a victory dance around the snooker table before grinning widely at a sulking Mulder.

'This is the fifth consecutive game, give it a rest,' grumbled the agent, already down a hundred dollars. 'Can't you find someone else to bother?'

'When another person walks into the room worth bothering, I will bother _them_,' sang the hero (still a little out of character).

Under the table, out of view of the still-dancing Batman, Fox picked up his phone and sent a not-so-cryptic text to two near-identical numbers. _Rec room. You may want to see this. ;)_

Ten agonising minutes later, the twins – accompanied by River, Skulduggery and a few others who had tagged along – walked into the rec room and stopped dead at the sight of a dancing, singing, spandex-clad superhero. Mulder had to suppress a chuckle at the sight of several facial versions of 'what-the-hell', 'leaving-now', and 'I-don't-even-want-to-know'. These were noticed a second later by the object of their confusion, who suddenly stopped dancing and tried to look casual. The randoms drifted away, now uninterested, and River took the skeletal detective over to the giant chessboard. The twins, after a moment of silent conversation, scampered over to the pool table and started setting up a game. Fox, his mission accomplished, flashed a sardonic smile at the embarrassed hero and slunk out of the room.

Batman looked around awkwardly, finally rushing into the lift and letting the door close.

The room was quiet for several seconds.

Then it exploded with laughter.

* * *

13:30.

Almost party time. Bats was really starting to get on everyone's nerves and a full-on food fight had only just been prevented in the dining room by the timely arrival of Slendy. He had done his usual threatening to chuck them all out of the building, but was met with so many practised death glares that he gained an instant headache and had to go lie down with cold compresses on all six of his main tendrils.

A certain curly-headed detective, tapping into his vast reserve of OCD-ness, had been vigilantly combing the party hall – again – for any signs of a prank. Nothing had made itself known so far, and so he was now sitting on the edge of the platform, drumming his fingers on the wood.

And the walls, if they could, would have trembled in fear, because Sherlock was _bored._

* * *

2:00.

The party had begun. It didn't take the guests too long to realise that Bats' idea of a "party" was people standing around and talking about nothing in particular. Some people, like Skulduggery and Slendy, didn't mind this. Some other people, however…

'Leo?'

'Yes, Donnie?'

'Are we even sure this is a party?'

'… No.'

'Right…'

'This is not entertaining like he promised, Leo.'

'I know, River. In fact, it's downright boring.'

'Cannot understand Batman's infatuation with string quartet music, Donatello.'

'Me neither, Rorschach. Me neither…'

'Don't tell me,' said Sherlock, walking up to the small group who were standing stiffly in the corner of the room, 'you're bored too.'

'Good observation,' replied Leo drily.

'Doesn't take a detective. Any moron can see it.'

'Obviously not _any_ moron,' snickered Don, 'or we'd actually be _entertained_ right now.'

The five of them shared a laugh (besides Rorschach of course). 'But seriously,' the genius twin continued, 'this is supposed to be a party. Parties are supposed to be fun.'

Leo sighed despondently – and then stiffened, looking around warily. Don was instantly alert. 'Leo?'

'Something's not right.'

There was a crackling sound and a high-pitched 'whiiiiiiiiiii' before several firecrackers exploded from the middle of the giant cake, spattering icing and mashed chocolate ripple everywhere – all over the stage, the string quartet, and most of the other people present.

There was a very long silence as Batman wiped squashed cake from his suit jacket.

Then he took a deep breath, and everyone froze, fearing the worst.

'FOOD FIGHT!'

* * *

16:53.

All the food had been cleaned up and people were dancing to the latest pop hits. In one corner, Mulder was silently grumbling as Iron Man loudly sang "The Fox", complete with snarky pointing and terrible dancing, while Skulduggery and Rorschach looked on without knowing quite what to think. Leo and Don had dissolved into barely-hidden giggles at the scene, but River walked over to where Sherlock was desperately looking for clues. 'You won't find anything, Mr. Holmes,' she told him. 'Magic doesn't leave traces. Not that you could see through a magnifier, anyway.'

'There has to be an explanation, something obvious as to who did it.'

'You think magic doesn't exist, but Mr. Pleasant is a walking skeleton who can manipulate the elements, and the manager, Mr. Slender, can move without you noticing. And I am sure that the twins are not what they first appear to be, but some things are apparently meant to remain a mystery.'

And with that, she drifted away, leaving Sherlock to ponder, frustrated, about who could possibly have pulled off the trick.

* * *

17:28.

'Don?'

'Yeah?'

'Great idea.'

'You did all the work. Those powers of yours actually come in pretty handy sometimes.'

'Mm. I only wish I could control it better.'

'You'll learn, Leo, in time.'

'Yeah…'

'You did good. And hey – we annoyed the crap out of him!'

'Did you see him? He just _couldn't_ figure it out!'

'Heh. And no one will ever know.'

'Yep – we completely fooled Sherlock Holmes.'

''Night, Leo.'

''Night.'

* * *

**Can I just say that I bloody love Bats' antics in this episode? I laugh every time.**

**-Rex**


End file.
